Broken
by bassgoddess
Summary: Hermione/Scabior.  Implied rape  not Scabior .
1. Chapter 1

So in my story you have to suppose after the chase, Harry and Ron escaped but Hermione was caught.

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><p>Scabior regarded the girl who had just fallen on the forest floor in front of him. Naked, arms wrapped around herself, she was shivering and silently crying as she rocked slowly back and forth. His eyes ran to her legs and narrowed when he saw traces of blood on her thighs. He crouched down next to her, reaching out a hand to touch the blood. Hermione jerked abruptly away from him and, not raising her eyes, spoke quietly.<p>

"Please don't hurt me".

His eyes ran over her naked form as she averted her gaze. He couldn't help it. The pale skin of her breasts was almost translucent. The hard line of his mouth twitched as he removed his jacket and held it out to her. She didn't reach for it. He let it drop to the ground in front of her, pushing it towards her. Standing, he looked down at her and spoke gruffly.

"Use the jacket".

Scabior was not a kind man. He was not a decent man, either. However, he did realize the importance of keeping a supposed friend of Harry Potter's alive and well. He was more of a mercenary, really. He knew as long as the girl was alive and he possessed her that no harm would come to him. The Dark Lord was too eager to find the boy. The girl was simply a bargaining chip; a means to an end. He might make off with a tidy sum. Of course, an in incoherent, upset state, it might anger the Dark Lord. Although quite certain he'd love nothing more than to torture her, that was a sadistic pleasure reserved only for him. Also, if she was so upset she'd be less likely to communicate the whereabouts of Potter.

Angry that his success was threatened, he turned on his heel and approached the rest of the men who surrounded the campfire, laughing, rowdy and getting more drunk by the minute.

"Oi!," he called, making a few heads turn his way but most remained drunkenly speaking amongst themselves.

He strode close to the flames and spoke again, his teeth gritted.

"OI!," he said this time, louder. Satisfied he had everyone's attention he spoke.

"Who messed up that girl?"

There was some shuffling and murmurs but no one came forward or volunteered any information. They were so stupid, the lot of them. He slowly circled the fire.

"Did it not occur to any o' you gents that that girl over there is 'arry Potter's friend and we can use her to get to him?"

Again no one spoke.

"No one?," his eyes scanned the crowd. "Did you not think if you bring a hysterical girl in front of the Dark Lord he would wonder what 'ad 'appened? And that all our necks would be on the line?"

Still nothing.

"'O course you didn't," he turned back to the figure of the girl, yards away, huddled in his jacket. Looking up at the night sky hearing the low rumble of thunder, he started speaking again.

"We need her in one piece. Best not to forget."

He slowly turned towards her and walked away from the main campsite, back towards Hermione. He heard some talking, then laughing, as the 'festivities' resumed.

_Bloody idiots._

He strode 'til he was next to her, at her side. He gently nudged her with the toe of his boot.

Hermione let out a small gasp and flung herself around his plaid covered lower leg. The jacket fell away completely but she didn't seem to care about her nakedness. He was startled and moved to take a step back but she hugged his leg to herself, sobbing onto the plaid fabric and spoke.

"Please don't hurt me...please...I'm begging you...please," and her voice trailed off.

She sounded almost delirious.

He was shocked, this girl, this friend of Potter's had been broken. She was crying on his leg begging him to not harm her. Scabior didn't really care one way or the other about the girl. He didn't care about keeping her safe for any particular reason. He had done many things he regretted. But he needed her; he needed to know where the boy was. So he would have to gain her trust. He knew this, and spoke to her.

"I'm not going to hurt you, love."

He bent at the waist to undo her arms from around his leg, and tried to lift her up by the forearms. She rose slowly with him, and as her face came into the light he saw her left eye was nearly swollen shut. Her body went slack and she fell into his chest, the shivers wracking her small body unmistakable.

More thunder.

Balancing her against him, Scabior knelt on one knee and picked the jacket up, dragging it up past her arms and putting it over her shoulders. Her small hands crossed over her chest and held the opposing shoulders of the jacket, pulling it tight across her, preserving meager shreds of dignity.

He looked at the sky as the wind picked up, whipping her hair around her.

"Come with me," he spoke, his voice suddenly low.

Hermione used a hand to brush a tear away from her swollen eye and looked at him, her face clearly worried.

"There will be rain. Come inside. I won't hurt you. But if you continue to try my patience I might reconsider."

Hermione's good eye went slightly wider and she dropped her gaze quickly to the ground. She gave a slow nod, and with that he turned towards the low row of tents at the back of the campsite. She followed, willing her feet to move, staring at the back of the terrifying man in front of her. He walked quickly and she had to struggle to keep up. The rain started as they walked, and even the very first drops chilled her to the bone. Pulling his jacket around her even closer, she thought several things.

_He will rape me._

_He will torture me._

_He will kill me._

She tried to still her thoughts but to no avail. She really didn't have a choice. At least he had offered her his jacket. He hadn't been like the other man who pushed her down and took her in the rough leaves and sharp twigs. But he was just as frightening when he looked at her. This man, with his wild hair and terrifyingly cold eyes. He seemed the embodiment of evil.

He turned towards her and pulled the tent flap to one side, indicating she should precede him inside. She took a deep breath as the freezing rain continued to beat down upon her, and slowly exhaled as she walked past him and his predatory gaze into the warmth the tent promised.


	2. Chapter 2

She could feel him, the essence of him, almost like an electrical current as he walked into the tent quickly behind her. It made her hair stand on end.

She was grateful, however, for the candlelit inside of the tent which gave off a pleasant, orange glow. And the warmth that greeted her. Looking quickly around she saw a chair, a table, a desk of some sort with papers strewn about and then a bed.

She gulped. A single bed.

She heard him move closer. He was a head taller than her and now directly behind. She could feel the heat from his body through the back of the coat around her.

"Turn around," he said, his voice low.

Hermione thought for a split second, then, summoning her courage, she slowly turned to face the snatcher. He was mere inches from her. She watched as his eyes roamed her face. She had to shut them as it was so uncomfortable to have him scrutinizing her so closely; it made her feel so-_exposed_...

She could feel his breath on her face and she opened her eyes to be staring straight into his. Without speaking he grasped the end of her scarf which had been tied about his neck and gently tugged. Once freed of it he dropped it to the ground, still looking at her face.

_Oh Gods. He was undressing_...

Her breathing sped up and she shivered slightly, clutching the jacket around herself tightly.

"Drop the jacket," he commanded.

Her good eye went wide once again as she took a small step back and stammered as she spoke, "n-no..."

He let out an angry breath quickly through his nose and stepped towards her closing the distance between them. In a single motion he yanked the jacket away from her and sent it flying onto the chair several yards from them. Hermione yelped as she watched it fall and brought her hands up to cover herself.

"Don't," he said, that same cold, hard look in his eyes.

She let out a small whimper of panic, her eyes knit together. He was now pointing a wand at her.

_Damn!_

_He must have pulled the wand out when he started her by removing the jacket._

She let out several small cries as he edged it closer to her.

"Close your eyes," he spoke again.

She did as she was told, the same worried look etched on her features.

He muttered something and she felt the skin above her bad eye tighten and go back. She gasped as she realized he was _healing_ her. Her eyes fluttered open and she was met with his steely ones once more. He was still looking at her face. He gave a half nod and then moved his wand to her ribs which she hadn't even noticed were bruised. She looked down and felt a small blush break out across her cheeks. She had one arm across her breasts and the other covering...well...down there, but she was more naked than she'd ever been in front of another person. In front of a_ man._

She looked away and studied the chair as he touched his wand to several other places on her body; her shoulder, the outside of her thigh. It was terrible, it was humiliating, and she tried to occupy herself with staring at the wood grain, noticing the chair rungs, _anything_ to distract herself from this man's eyes that bored into her skin. He stilled and she looked back at him, meeting his eyes. He dropped his gaze down to the triangle of light hair he could see barely around her hand and back to her eyes, as if asking a question. Realizing he wondered if she was hurt, she shook her head 'no', signaling she did not need healing there. How mortifying.

He turned away and walked to the table where a bottle stood. She exhaled slowly, extremely relieved he was no longer so near. From the table he spoke to her, holding the bottle up.

"Firewhiskey?"

Again, she shook her head no. She cleared her throat and spoke.

"Might I have something to wear?"

He looked away from her and took a big swig from the bottle. He moved to place it on the table, but hesitated, bringing it up to his lips so he could drink again. Looking back at her, the corners of his mouth lifted, setting the line of his mouth in a cruel smirk.

"And, if I were to give you clothes, what would you give me in return?"

He took a step towards her and she instinctively backed up, careful to keep her hands in place as much as she could. Her tongue ran out to wet her suddenly dry lips. He watched the motion, his face suddenly taut with arousal.

_Oh Gods..._

It struck her like a bolt of lightning at how alone they were. At how really she was completely at this man's mercy. There was nowhere to run, no one she could call. She had no wand and knew no one here. She didn't even really know where she was. For a few moments, all that could be heard was the steady sound of rain on the tent.

"W-what do you want?," she asked timidly.

He took another step towards her and she gasped, and reflexively put her hand up to signal him to stop. Then she realized that in doing so she was no longer covering her breasts. His eyes went to her chest and he cracked his neck to one side and breathed heavily. Her mouth hanging open in surprise, she covered herself once more, continuing to back up as he continued forward.

"Wait!," she started, as her back suddenly bit into the side of the tent.

"Stop!," she cried, but still he advanced. He advanced until his body was pressed against hers and she had to stop covering herself and use her arms to try and put space between them, holding them against his chest. He stared at her eyes, then moved in. She let out a gasp as she thought he was trying to kiss her neck, but instead, he reached for the hair behind her shoulder and brought it forward, bringing it to his nose.

"I thought so," he said, speaking into her hair, drawing in another deep breath.

"I've smelled you before," he said. He wrapped the strand around his finger and continued.

"You smell like vanilla. You're going to be my favorite."


	3. Chapter 3

"Please," she spoke, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Please don't hurt me."

He exhaled into her hair and as his breath ran against her neck it gave her shivers. But a different sort of shiver than from the cold. It was..._odd._...

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his finger still wrapped around the tendril. Slowly he brought his head back over her shoulder until he was looking into her eyes.

"I already told you that," he said softly. Hermione swallowed, and his eyes immediately went to the column of neck that was exposed before him.

_'Oh Gods. He is going to kiss me_,' she thought.

He was so close to her and just letting his eyes roam from her neck to her face. Abruptly he turned his head, and she let out a soft breath of relief.

He walked back over to his table and reached for the firewhiskey. His back to her, he spoke.

"So your friends just left you, lovely?," he said as he uncorked the bottle, tipping it against his lips.

"Just left you alone with a bunch of snatchers?"

The implication angered Hermione. Her jaw tightened as she retorted, "they only did as I wished. I understand about doing things for the greater good."

He turned back to her, cocking his eyebrow, almost as if he was amused at her insolence.

"Of course I can't expect a man like you to understand something like that," she said, her jaw set in a hard line.

He looked down and smiled to himself as he put down the bottle and busied himself with removing his lone glove. He pulled it off a finger as a time as he walked towards her, barely able to suppress his anger. His eyes terrified her as he approached. She immediately wished she could take back the barb about his character. Hermione's breathing sped up and she moved away from him, still naked, still at his mercy. Scabior took long strides until they were almost nose to nose.

"Don't presume to know me or anything about me," he started, his voice silvery. He continued.

"Because I know you are useful to the Dark Lord I will not crack you in the face, like I ought to. But just this once."

The normalcy of his voice when speaking such unspeakable things made her shrink back. His eyes burned holes right through her very soul. She was frozen, unable to talk, move, do anything. He was so matter-of-fact about it and she couldn't believe she had been stupid enough to let herself get in such a predicament.

His gaze flickered down to her naked body, and she drew in a breath and held it. He turned and moved over to a small chest at the base of the bed. Opening it, he rummaged through until he seemed to find what he was looking for.

Hermione cringed in the corner certain he was going to pull out some kind of weapon to use on her for a split second. She was quite surprised when he strode to her again and offered her what looked like a jumble of bed linens but were actually a large plain shirt and pair of loose fitting running pants.

He held them out to her and she reached for them as he continued his angry glare. Suddenly he drew his hand back.

"One time," he said holding up one finger in a demonstration. She looked at him, nodding slowly in agreement, and again the garments were offered. She took them without saying anything.

"I'm going outside and I don't want you to try anything. Not that you would be able to," he smirked and turned towards the tent flap.

She watched his shoulders until he had retreated to the outside. She immediately began shivering, visibly shaken by the past several minutes with him. Her breathing sped up so quickly, and she realized if she didn't calm herself she'd give herself a panic attack. Making sure to take deeper breaths, she was able to calm her racing heart somewhat. Her small hands shook as she pulled the too-big shirt over her head. More than anything, she wanted to try and test out the wards; try to escape. But she was so tired and emotionally exhausted that she reached for the pants and pulled them on, debating if she should risk taking the bed to try and grab a quick sleep.

'_Because I know you are useful to the Dark Lord I will not crack you in the face.'_

If terrifying her had been his intention, it had worked. Her head swam with his menacing voice ringing in her ears. He obviously had no regard for...well..._decency_.

She wrapped her arms across her chest as she relished in the warmth of the garments. It was then she noticed the scent. It must have been _his_ scent. The shirt smelled of the outside, yes, but it also smelled like a man. It was strangely comforting and pleasant to Hermione. It was almost as if she could imagine someone was with her, protecting her. But sadly, she realized, just the opposite was true.

The rain pelted against the tent as she sat on the floor, legs crossed for several minutes. Her eyelids felt heavy and started drooping. Raising herself to her knees she reached over and felt the sheet on the bed.

_Well maybe just a few moments..._

She stood and moved to the bed. When she laid down and laid her head on the pillow she smelled the same scent as his shirt. The events of the day washed over her as she felt herself drift off into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Scabior approached the campfire area where most of the men had gathered. They had erected a tented main area, over where the fire would be had it not been raining. He strode over to Greyback who was obviously drunk.

"When are we turning the girl over?," he asked Scabior, slurring his words.

"I dunno," he spoke his eyebrows knitting together. Greyback passed him a bottle of the firewhiskey, and Scabior brought it to his lips, downing another mouthful.

"She's the only leverage we have I reckon. I'm not too keen to turn her over right away."

Greyback seemed to consider this for a moment and took a deep breath. His weight shifted on his feet and he leaned in to Scabior.

"Gotta take a piss, mate," he said, his arm on Scabior's shoulder before he retreated to the woods.

Scabior let out a grunt of frustration. This group was getting on his very last nerve. As much as he would love to drink and ramble on he took his job too seriously. He took everything seriously when money was involved. Perhaps it was a reaction to growing up fairly poor. He loved money. He loved having it. He loved what he could buy with it. It was much better of a motivator than a bottle of firewhiskey.

Thunder rang out again, and he decided he should be getting back to his tent. Let these idiots stay out here in the cold if they wanted. Not him.

As he walked back his mind was swimming. There were so many possible strategies concerning the girl. He could bring her immediately and hope to be rewarded. He could hold her, trying to lure Harry Potter to himself and do that. Or he could hold the girl long enough and bargain with Voldemort; a dangerous strategy indeed, but did provide the most security for his position. As long as he held her, he was needed.

He reached the tent and lifted the flap, stepping inside. The rain had soaked his vest and outershirt, and he was eager to get out of it. He was startled however when he saw the bed, _his _bed, and the mudblood girl sleeping on it.

_That's some cheek_, he thought.

Nevermind, he'd simply wake her and make her sleep on the floor. He strode to the chest at the foot of the bed. Reaching inside, he grabbed another shirt, shaking it tentatively, smoothing out wrinkles. Not that he cared if it was wrinkled. It wasn't like anyone was out here to see him anyway. He almost smirked to himself, how at one point in his life he'd thought himself fashionable.

* * *

><p>Hermione watched as he busied himself in the chest, then threw a clean shirt on the chair. Better to keep an eye on him than be surprised by him waking her suddenly. She was so still he hadn't seen her open her eyes. His back to her, he removed his vest, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor, the shirt following not far behind.<p>

She couldn't help but notice the hard muscles of his back as he threw the new shirt about his shoulders, reaching an arm into each sleeve. Abruptly he turned around to button the front. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut quickly, but she was too slow; he had seen her watching him. She prayed silently that he hadn't actually seen her.

"You can open your eyes, my lovely," he said, his hands stilling before they worked up the buttons on the front.

She opened her eyes slowly, still laying under the covers, unmoving. "I-I wasn't watching...," her voice broke off as she saw his fingers deftly work the buttons all the way up, and her cheeks flushed. "I heard a noise...,"

He moved to the side of the bed, taking confident strides, dropping his arms to his sides. Looking down at her he said softly, "...and did you like what you see?"

Her eyes flew open wide and she sat up in the bed, "No!," she spoke, a bit too loudly. "No-I," and her voice trailed off again. She really didn't know how to say 'I_ was trying to make sure you didn't rape me in my sleep, so I was keeping an eye on you_.'

He seemed to be unconvinced she hadn't been ogling him and he continued. "I really wouldn't have thought you the type."

Very slowly he brought his hand which rested at his side up to trace lightly along the lower portion of her forearm. As he traced her arm with his finger, her breathing hitched and she looked at him. For whatever reason, his soft touch had sent a bolt of electricity right down to her core. It was sudden, and unwanted. Definitely just her body's reaction, but it scared her that she actually liked it. Her whole body had been so taut after the ordeals of the day, and although she didn't quite understand the feelings that arose, she knew they were unwarranted. And dangerous. She exhaled, quickly moving her arm away.

"Im not that type."

He regarded her, sitting, her chin jutting up proudly as she tried to demonstrate just how above this all she was.

It amused him, and made him lower himself until he was sitting on the bed with her. She immediately scooted back until her back was against the headboard, putting as much distance in between them as possible.

"Listen, love...I don't wanna hurt you. And I don't wanna do what one of my men did to you-,"

"One of your men?," she interrupted. "Try three," she said, immediately looking down.

Ah, so that was it. He had realized when he saw her shaking in the forest she'd been raped and she had obviously been a virgin. But he hadn't realized it had been more than one time. Not that he felt bad about it at all, he was simply trying to put himself in her shoes, psychologically.

His eyes narrowed and he reached his hand to her ankle through the sheets. She let him. As long as he didn't touch her skin directly she felt safe.

"Look, I am sorry about tha'. These nutters shouldn'a done it."

She looked at him. No she would not forgive him. He wasn't even involved. But she would never forgive the situation. He cleared his throat and continued.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush 'ere. I need you to tell me where 'arry Potter's at."

Her mouth twitched at the corner and his eyes went to it. She slowly raised the corners of her mouth, in a wicked semi-smile.

"If I knew, you really think I'd just come out like that and say it?," she said, looking into his face, almost about to laugh. His face became cold and serious, and it demonstrated this was obviously not a laughing matter.

"I don't know where he and Ron are," she stated flatly turning her head.

She felt the muscles of his hand tense momentarily around her ankle and it made her gasp and look down at his hand. He slowly removed his hand, pondering something to himself before standing and beginning to walk towards the table. He didn't know if she was lying or telling the truth. But, he suspected, she was concealing her friends. Perhaps she had been acting vulnerable the whole time, in an effort to garner sympathy. Perhaps she was actually quite strong.

"Do you know what I did before I joined up here?," he started, his voice icy as he approached the table, reaching for the firewhiskey.

He brought his eyes level with hers. She swallowed and shook her head '_no_'.

He brought the bottle up to her in a mock salute, tipping it back against his lips.

"Well, let's just say, I was in Azkaban."

She blinked her eyes, trying to keep her face neutral. Bottle in hand, he began to walk towards her. She moved to scoot back but realized she was already pressed against the headboard which was against the wall.

"I was sentenced there...well, let's just say...for a very,_ very_, long time."

She swallowed again and tried to suppress the quivering which had quickly overtaken her. He was trying to intimidate her, she knew, and she didn't want to be afraid. But she was.

"The particulars are not important. But you should know, my love, I _always_ get what I want one way or another."

He stood at the foot of the bed. Placing his hand on the sheets, he ran it up along the cotton as he walked up the left side, coming ever closer to her.

"Now, we can do this the easy way...or we can do this the hard way."


	5. Chapter 5

Something about his voice had frozen her in her place. Still against the headboard, Hermione swallowed.

_"Now, we can do this the easy way...or we can do this the hard way."_

The words hung in her ears, the implication obvious. She was frightened but it angered her that she was being interrogated. It angered her what had happened to her in the past few hours...she had been separated from her friends, raped, now questioned. Part of her wanted to go home and cry. But she would not let him win. She had to be strong. For Harry and Ron if no one else.

"I already told you I don't know where they are," she muttered, still keeping a stiff upper lip.

His hand in the sheets, he looked down and smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was terrifying. He turned away from Hermione and walked towards the center of the tent.

"Now why do I not believe you?," he asked, knitting his eyebrows together in mock confusion.

She let a breath out and started again, "I _am_ telling you the truth. I honestly don't know."

He wasn't looking at her, but he continued, his voice soft. "I still don't believe you."

She looked directly at him which made him bring his eyes to hers.

"Then I believe we are at an impasse. I don't know where they are."

He walked away from her for a moment, turning his back on her as he strode to his table. Reaching for the bottle of firewhiskey he tipped it back against his lips and let the liquid burn a trail down his throat. He turned back towards her as he placed the bottle down. His eyes locked on hers, and he spoke, teeth gritted.

"Fine, beautiful. You're gonna play it like that, fine."

Scabior slowly reached his hand down to his wand. He did it deliberately to intimidate her. It seemed to work, for Hermione's heartbeat started racing as she saw the wand.

"Wait!," she said, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and getting to her feet quickly.

She rushed towards him. "I don't know where they are!"

"And I think you do," he responded angrily.

"But I don't! I really don't!," she cried in a half effort to placate him.

When she reached him he grabbed her by the wrist, stilling her and thought for a second, before speaking lowly into her face, emphasizing each word icily.

"And if you did?"

Her eyes suddenly changed from worried to determined. He was almost startled as he witnessed the change. They reflected nothing but hate as her mouth curled, preparing to answer him.

"I wouldn't tell you."

He released his grip on her wrist, pushing her back angrily as he spoke, his eyes cold.

"Let the record show that I gave you a choice to do this the easy way. I gave you an option-"

Hermione moved to speak but he held up his hand, silencing her.

"No, I told you we could do this one of two ways," he continued, taking a step back from her.

"Remember when I told you I wouldn't hurt you?," he asked, watching her eyes closely, his voice flat; devoid of emotion.

She shook her head slowly.

"Well, my lovely, you have given me no choice. I'm afraid I have to retract that statement."

She began to whimper and cower as he pointed his wand at her and spoke lowly.

"_Crucio_"


	6. Chapter 6

He watched the girl writhing on the floor. He didn't derive any pleasure from it, but it didn't bother him either. He was completely apathetic, and that was perhaps the scariest thing about him. She would have screamed, he was certain, if she could, but this particular version of the curse did not allow for that.

Her hair flailed about her head as she jerked and moved, almost as if being shocked head to toe by an electric current. After several seconds, he raised his wand, releasing his hold on her.

She panted several times and rolled onto her side, curling into an almost fetal position. Then the tears fell.

Hermione had never felt the Cruciatus curse before. It was unimaginable. One time as a child in her family's home she had unplugged the cord from their fishtank, accidentally grabbing some of the metal plug in the process. It wasn't really pain, but it was a complete loss of control she experienced. Unable to let go the plug and unable to move, she stood there, her hand and body pelted with jolts of electricity until her mother had noticed and pulled her hand away.

This was nothing like that.

Not only was she immoblile; she felt that familiar surge of current and also felt almost as if she was being pierced in a thousand places by tiny razor blades. It was a pain that made her ache from the inside. The pounding in her head became unbearable; far worse than any migraine.

Slowly rolling from her side to face her captor, she held a hand in front of her, as if to protest.

"Please-," she spoke, her voice no more than a whisper.

Scabior watched the girl look at him through her wet eyes and hold out her hand. It was pathetic, really. She lay there, completely at his mercy, still hoping for kindness. He was surprised, however, that she had not confessed. Usually a bout of the cruciatus curse worked wonders for loosening tongues. Perhaps she did not know after all.

Her small figure drew itself up, her arms going about her legs, hugging them to her chest, on her side, on the floor.

"Where are they?," he asked again, slow and deliberate.

With every ounce of her strength, she brought her eyes to his and shook her head, signaling 'no', she did not know where they were.

He regarded her form, completely passed out on the floor. For a moment, he felt a twinge of something, which he dismissed as feeling bad she was so much weaker. Swallowing, he choked whatever that feeling was down, and lowered his wand at her again.

"_Crucio_"

The body before him jerked much less this time; he suspected she was losing consciousness. She did spasm for awhile but when he saw her eyes roll back in her head he knew she had passed out. He stopped immediately. She was no use to him unconscious.

He strode to her side with determined steps. He gently reached out with the tip of his boot and prodded her side. In response, her body which had been prone on her side, flopped onto its back.

It was then that a wave of..._remorse was it?_...slowly washed over Scabior. He hadn't really ever used the torture curse on a woman. For a moment he actually felt angry that he had allowed himself to make her go unconscious. The second time had been hard to watch, unlike the first.

_Why had she reached out to him?_

He felt something. Maybe just the fact that this was a woman and by all rights a man should protect women. But this was wartime. He shook his head; he would not feel bad about this. It was his job and it was not his fault. However, as his eyes went to her form, involuntarily asleep and on her back, he did feel something.

He had believed she was telling the truth, and he had used the curse a second time. He felt a quick rising of bile in his throat which he choked down. He had believed her and done it anyway. He had used all his power on a woman who couldn't defend herself. And quite frankly, it did make him feel sick. He did not understand why though.

Letting out a sigh, he moved to his knee, satisfied she was not "faking it" and wouldn't jump up and struggle with him as he approached her, bent until his arms were around her, and lifted her small form, a hand under her shoulders and another under her knees. She was so light and fragile. So small...

That was all for today. He would let her sleep.

His thoughts raced; she had trusted him; he had even told her he would not hurt her, and then he had broken his word. She was so little and without a wand completely defenseless...and here he was a fully grown man who was armed. And yet he resorted to _this_...

_Enough! _ His head screamed.

He strode to his bed and gently laid her on it, careful to make sure her hair was not caught under her, inadvertently pulling her head back. Satisfied she was comfortable he went a step further. The cold air was chilly and with hands that suddenly trembled, he reached for the blanket she was laid atop; untangled it from her and brought it over her, up to her neck. At least he could make her warm.

His eyes roamed her face as she slept for a moment. Her brows were knitted together.

_'I hope you are not dreaming of this'_, he thought for a brief moment. He walked back to his end table and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey, taking drink after drink, as if he could erase his memories.


	7. Chapter 7

Scabior lifted the curtained-tent opening with his gloved hand, his other hand grasping the firewhiskey bottle firmly. He strode to where the other men were gathered.

"Fuck off," he said lowly as they turned when he approached. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to be at peace. He wanted to be as far away from the girl and what he'd done to her as possible.

"Aw come on now Scabior, don't feel bad you didn' get nothin' outta 'er," Greyback started, trying desperately to mask the amusement which laced his voice.

He walked directly in front of Greyback and spoke coldly. "I don't".

He turned away and walked to the fire pit and muttered, "I'll get it outta 'er."

Greyback moved over to him, speaking as he strode. "Ya you better. The Dark Lord won' be pleased if you don'. " His eyes grinted evilly as Scabior brought his gaze up. "If you want...I could have a go at it-," he started but Scabior cut him off all too quickly.

"No!," he exclaimed a bit too loud, softening his tone when he saw Greyback's eyes dilate. "No, I'll do it. She's mine."

Greyback kept his gaze level with Scabior, almost as if fighting for dominance. Of course he had to listen to Scabior. He was the leader. For now.

"You do what you wan'. Jus' make sure we get somethin' outta 'er soon. Or it'll be our necks."

Scabior looked away. He was right of course. He'd either have to turn over the girl or have some sort of information to provide.

"You're takin' a fancy to 'er I reckon," Greyback continued.

"I am NOT, you hairy ape," he said, rising and standing in front of him. "I just spent the better part of an' hour using the cruciatus curse on that girl in there."

Greyback shrugged and turned, speaking over his shoulder. "Alrigh' mate, calm down."

Scabior watched as Greyback lumbered over to the others. He tipped the whiskey back against his lips again as he watched the larger man retreat.

He was right, of course. Something was odd about the girl.

Why hadn't he turned her over yet? And more importantly why had he felt bad about torturing her?

Yes, he would have to get her to talk soon. One way or another.

* * *

><p>Hermione shook awake violently, sitting up and letting out a gasp. It was almost as if someone had shocked her heart into beating. Her eyes took in her surroundings wildly as she worked to still her breathing. She was in the tent. She was still here. She had been tortured but she was alive.<p>

And very alone.

'_Thank Godric,_' she thought to herself.

He was lower lip trembled as she remembered his eyes, devoid of emotion, as he leveled his wand at her. Her body ached, and she suddenly realized her pounding head. The tears started to fall from her eyes as she leaned back into the pillow.

Not only was she crying from the actual physical pain she now felt; she was crying from the stress of the entire situation.

He wasn't even human. He was so cold. She had told him she didn't know anything and he had tortured her anyway. Perhaps just to show her she could.

Where were Harry and Ron? How much more was she supposed to endure? They had to be looking for her...didn't they?

Her head continued to pound and she brought her hand up to press against the bridge of her nose. Gradually, the sobs subsided into sniffles, and her other hand kneaded her temple. She rolled onto her side and wrapped her arms around her shoulders as the migraine slowly subsided into a dull ache. Her whole body was sore. The effects of the curse, no doubt.

Hermione had originally thought she could appeal to him in some way and convince him she knew nothing. But that cold look in his eyes; the flat, unemotional quality they held chilled her, and made her doubt there was anything humane about him.

Sighing, she rolled onto her back, pulling the sheet around her trembling shoulders. She silently traced the inner roof of the tent as she spoke over and over to herself...

_'Harry...please help. Ron...please find me...'_

She was trying to remain strong but she didn't know how much longer she could hold out.

She would soon find out.


	8. Chapter 8

The tattoo on his neck began a dull ache which gradually consumed the entire right side of his throat.

He was being summoned.

He didn't have the information.

He didn't know what to do.

His hand immediately flew to the now-tender skin on the side of his neck and rubbed tersely, trying to ease some of the pain which had gone from a throb to an all-encompassing burning feeling. Most unpleasant. And all because of that damn, bloody _bitch_.

* * *

><p>Hermione was jerked out of bed by her shirt. Well, <em>his<em> shirt. Her feet struggled to find their footing as her eyes cracked open into narrow slits.

"I am being summoned. I need to know where they are. Now. _Right now_. Right now, or you are coming with me, and you can talk to _him_ yourself."

Her eyes struggled to adjust to the light he must have lit in the room as she spoke, almost pleading, "I don't know! I don't know where they are. I swear to you I don't."

He pulled her close to him, until their faces were close and stared her directly in the eyes, shaking her by the shirt.

"Don't play these games with me! I don't enjoy trying to get it out of you but I swear to Godric I will!"

Hermione's eyes snapped open the rest of the way, and his roughness made her tone suddenly change from pleading with him to pure anger.

"You can't get it out of me because i DON'T KNOW!", she almost yelled at him.

His grip on the shirt tightened and he yanked her several inches closer.

"Don't you know what he will do to you?" he said, his eyes betraying his fury. " Have you even stopped to consider?"

He continued, " Or what he might do to _me_?"

Her eyes flashed angry once more and to counter, she grabbed the front of his jacket. She was tired of this, and quickly losing her temper.

"Of _course_ I know what he will do! What do you think, I've just been sitting here like a bloody idiot for the last few days?" She spat at him, the force of her words taking him by surprise; making him loosen the grasp on the shirt she wore.

"I. Don't. Know. Where. They. Are. For the last time."

She had spoken clearly and directly, emphasizing each word sharply as her breathing sped up, her hand still fisted in the front of his jacket. He pulled her tightly by the shirt again, making her gasp as the cloth bit into her neck.

"I will break you, girl...I will use the curse on you for so long you won't even remember your name!," he yelled at her in her face.

"Go ahead!," she screamed back, "Go ahead you loathsome, vile man! I hate you! I'll never tell you anything if I have breath left in my body!"

She stood in front of him, her hand grasping his jacket lapel and he, his hand on the shirt. And then it happened.

He didn't know why. He didn't know how, even. All he knew was that in an instant as their breathing had grown ragged he had fisted his free hand in the hair at the back of her neck and pulled her to him, their lips meeting hungrily. And neither of them would know why, but she reciprocated.

She pulled him into her, her hand refusing to loosen its grasp on his leather jacket. He growled into her mouth as free hand roamed her body shamelessly, over the soft curve of her breasts, making her arch against him. No one had touched her like this. Not the men earlier, not Ron, no one.

His grip still in her hair, he pulled her hips to him, pressing her against his all-apparent need. He thought she would pull back. He thought she would slap him. But she didn't. She shivered against him, and he almost lost it, right then, right there. Nothing, not the pain in his neck, nor the threat of death, nor anything else could make him move from his spot at this moment.

Hermione's body was on fire. She hated him so much. She hated him, and yet somehow that hate had, in the last several moments, converted to lust. Why had she done it? She had crashed into him just as much as he had her. This was a terrible idea, yet every molecule, every nerve ending, from her toes to the ends of her hair was alight. What in Godric's name had happened? Was _happening_?

Rational thought prevailed for a brief moment, and she pulled her lips from his, using the hand she had fisted in his jacket to push him away from her. Her breathing still heavy she regarded him. He was flushed and his eyes had narrowed. They pushed away from each other, taking steps back but still facing each other. She refused to look down, to the front of his trousers, where she had felt him pressing against her. But she wanted to. She wanted to even though she never had wanted to see anyone else like that. Oh Godric, she wanted to see what she had done to him.

Almost involuntarily her eyes flickered downward, stealing a glance. The sight of him pressed against his trousers made her breathing hitch as she felt a small blush creep over her features. She shut her eyes, only to open them and then slowly search out his.

He thought she looked beautiful. His shirt had fallen off her shoulder, leaving it bare. He hadn't really thought about her in this way up until just now. Her lips were flushed, her hair was wild, and he wanted to see more.

He wanted to see her sprawled beneath him as he used himself to bring that flush all over her body.

He wanted to taste her and to touch her until she cried out his name. He wanted to pound into her until she slapped him and yelled about how terrible of a man he was and how much she hated him. He wanted her to scream until there was nothing left.

She turned away from him, and he looked downward, struggling to catch his breath.

Neither one spoke as he headed to the tent flap. Raising it, he cast a quick look over his shoulder before venturing out into the cold air, unsure of what was to come.


	9. Chapter 9

She turned and her eyes moved to the flap of the tent, where he had been but moments earlier.

_'What in Godric's name is wrong with me?', _she chided herself in her head.

Yet her hand reached up to touch her lips; to the remnants of moisture she found there. Sighing, she moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

_'How could you? When you know he is against the cause? How could you do that with this man?'_

Hermione was so incredibly disappointed in herself. It was not like her at all. Ron and Harry would be horrified and probably wouldn't want anything to do with her if they knew. And why had she kissed him?

Hermione was not one for dramatics, so her mind immediately began working.

_One. _

Today had been a very long day. She had been through quite a bit today, many changes, and losing one's head is to be expected.

_Two._

The angry heat of the moment had simply sparked her nerves.

_Three._

He grabbed her and she was complying.

_Four..._

She couldn't think anymore and slowly she felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She missed Harry. She missed Ron. She was so very, incredibly, extremely, _alone_.

The hopelessness of her situation once more overtook her and she felt a wave of desperation, spurring on more tears. She put her head into her hands and she cried.

She cried as she hadn't cried in a long time.

She didn't know how but she, Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, had been broken.

* * *

><p>"Well, snatcher. What have you brought for me?," the Dark Lord started, comfortably seated in his chair.<p>

Scabior averted his eyes, as was expected, and cleared his throat hesitantly.

"Milord...there is...," he started, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. "There...well, we do not have Potter, but we did find the muggle girl he travels with."

Voldemort's face remained fairly composed, save for a twitch in the corners of his mouth.

"I was quite hoping by now you would have him."

Scabior looked up, tilting his chin arrogantly. "As did I. However, I do have an idea if you will permit me."

Voldemort seemed to consider this, as he reached his hand down. Nagini curled himself under his master's hand, letting him stroke him slowly.

"I have to admit I find myself...curious. That a pitiful snatcher could have anything that would interest me. However, I am...amused by your manner. Do continue."

Scabior's gaze flickered to the snake who was pulling back, its lower body coiling. He knew it was how a snake behaved right before it struck. He realized he'd have to choose his words carefully.

"I was thinking that regardless of what we think about Potter, he does have feelings for his friend. As much as he and everyone else will deny that he would go back for the girl, I do believe he would try."

Voldemort's hand lifted from the snake's head and slowly knitted itself around his other hand.

Scabior exhaled, as the saw the snake relax.

"You believe this to be true, snatcher?," the Dark Lord continued, his lips curling around his teeth.

"Yes I do. Because despite everything else, Harry Potter is quite...human. He is very alone in the world since the death of his parents and he is...very close to his friends."

Voldemort sat back, obviously thinking about the proposition. Then he rose, walking to the snatcher.

"Why don't you make the girl talk? Make her tell you where he is?," he said, almost sneering at Scabior.

"I did try, milord. Two bouts of the cruciatus curse. She insists she doesn't know where they are. I am inclined to believe her."

Voldemort turned his back to him suddenly, shrugging him off with a gesture from his long hand.

"Very well," he spoke dismissing him.

Scabior turned on his heel to leave, when he realized Voldemort was speaking to him again.

"And...snatcher?," he started speaking again.

Scabior looked over his shoulder, weary from the ordeal. He raised his eyebrows signaling the Dark Lord to continue.

"Do not fail me."

Without skipping a beat, he spoke back.

" I won't."

Scabior turned around once more and started walking down the long corridor.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione dabbed at the corners of her eyes with his bedsheet. She refused to sleep on it, lest he return. She had to find some way to get her wand back. Because even if she could get past the wards somehow, she wouldn't be able to apparate and she would just be captured again.

'_Okay, Hermione, think,_' she started.

_'Think!'_

She stood, dropping the sheet and regarding the room anxiously, her pulse starting to speed up.

'_Well what do we know so far. Someone took it from you when you first went down. But they probably turned it over to him, since he's the leader.'_

She paced back and forth, it was helping her thought process.

_'And you haven't seen him ward anything in the room or appear possessive of any item of furniture.'_

Still walking. Back and forth.

'_Ergo...It's most likely on his person...it seems unlikely he would just leave it here right?'_

_'Right?'_

Oh Gods, she didn't know. Hurrying to the tiny chest, she flung it open, searching wildly inside for something, anything. Nothing. Nothing but shirts and trousers, a scarf and a set of men's leather gloves.

Shutting it quickly she sat back on her haunches, dropping her head to her hands momentarily.

'_Ok, don't freak out. You've already survived the worst thing that could possibly happen; you've survived the cruciatus curse, you can do this!'_

She let out a long breath, her heart pounding, her hands running up her forehead and into her hair.

She exhaled again, feeling her heart slowly return to a less intense state.

She never would really return to a resting heartbeat though. For even without looking, she felt the hairs on her neck prickle and realized he was entering the tent again.

* * *

><p>"Hello, beautiful," he said, his voice as silvery as a snake.<p>

Her mouth instantly curled downwards as the way he caressed the sentence made her feel sick. And angry.

"You!," she said, rising to her feet and spinning around.

"Well who'd you expect, love?," he said, striding to her, his face becoming serious.

They both regarded each other for a few moments before his arm suddenly shot out, grabbing her tightly by the wrist. She cried out, completely surprised by the action and shook her whole arm, trying to loosen his grasp.

"Guess where I've been, my lovely," he started, giving her wrist a hard yank, making her momentarily cease her struggling.

"I take it you know already," he continued, not even waiting for her to answer.

"So here's what we're gonna do. We're going to wait for Potter to come here for you. Then we're going to get him and take him to the Dark Lord. And, it's all gonna happen in a few days, understand?"

He shook her again and she cried out, the grip on her wrist bruising her.

Hermione, thinking quickly used this particular moment when he felt he had power over her to quickly raise her knee and bring it squarely into his groin.

He let out a noise like a grunt and released her, doubling over immediately.

"Give me back my wand!," she yelled at him, furious at the whole situation.

He was on his knees on the floor, and she bent over, her hands all over him, trying to reach into his jacket and find her wand.

Scabior, of course, had recovered by this time and hooked his leg behind her knees and pulled, causing her to cry out as she crashed to the floor.

"You bloody bitch!," he snarled, leaning over her and leering, grabbing her wrists and forcing her against the floor of the tent, releasing her with a push into the hard floor, making her cry out.

"You really thought you'd have got the best of me. You can't even leave the room. You're the brightest witch of your age, really love?" he sneered down at her cruelly. She instinctively brought her hands up in front of her chest and shivered.

She actually shivered. She actually felt cold. He was over her now, grabbing her wrists in both of his hands and transferring them to one hand as she started to shake uncontrollably. The tension was terrible, she wanted to cry out and hit him and run and scream and vanish and...

She felt his free hand then. Pulling at the elastic of the running trousers he'd lent her. She let out a cry and turned her head from him, struggling against his hand holding her wrists, her legs moving about wildly, trying to knee him in the groin, kick at him, anything.

He was almost panting like an animal now, looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive. He yanked her by the wrists and she stilled suddenly, looking at him.

She shuddered against him, seeing how he was looking at her, her breathing fast, her mind, terrified.

She stilled for a moment, and then he yanked her trousers off down past her knees as she tried to push him from her wrists off.

She was half naked, underneath him as his hand flew to his trousers. She struggled against him, lifting her hips against his in an effort to roll him off of her, making him have to move his hand from his trousers to put his weight on it.

He shoved her into the floor roughly and she cried out, lifting her hips against his again. She did it a third time and he shoved his hips back into her, causing her to cry out, this time, not in pain. She immediately stilled as she looked at him, his eyes hungry. He was also still himself.

She involuntarily shook again underneath him, but it was different this time. He looked at her, his mouth open, also panting, and rolled his hips against her again. Hermione cried out and turned her head away as she felt him nudge her legs apart and roughly thrust his still clothed lower body against her. Her head snapped back, completely overtaken by the sensation of him on her sensitive flesh. She felt his hips thrust against hers, again, and then another time, as she unabashedly began to wrap her long legs around his hips.

He was pushing into her now, she could feel him hard beneath the plaid, and her want completely overtook her rational thought. Every time his clothed lower body crashed into hers she forgot her name. His hand ran back to his trousers, continuing to work the zipper and she shuddered into him, gasping. His hand pushed his trousers down and he pulled her hips to his, and reached up, grabbing a handful of her hair and tugging it painfully as she cried out. He let go of her wrists, writhing against her as she was crying out, reaching her hands into her hair to try and get him to loosen his grip.

But he didn't release her. His grip in her hair tightened, making tears form at the corner of her eyes as she clawed against him. Then she felt the pressure of him as he pushed against her entrance and she cried out, shaking against him, awash in pain and pleasure.

She gave up trying to fight him and grabbed him roughly by his shoulders as he slid home.


	11. Chapter 11

For some reason it didn't send out a notification when I uploaded the last chapter, so I'm putting this up temporarily so if anyone is reading they know it's up. Lol.


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione realized she had been holding her breath; this fact only becoming apparent as she recognized the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. He was inside her, he was surrounding her, he was everywhere. His arms wrapped around her waist as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her.

She hated herself.

She hated him.

She wanted him.

And worse, she wanted this.

This tightening and releasing, the thrust and drag which made her tense every muscle in her body all at the same time. This hot, wet heat which threatened to eat her from the inside. Her hands had gone around his hips, not meaning to, but guiding him against her as she cried out. Her hair was pulled back by his hands and he leaned in to run his tongue from her ear to her neck. Being pinned, being held down and unable to move her head should have been terrifying. It should have been awful.

It wasn't.

For every thrust of his hips against hers brought her closer, closer to that unattainable edge; that unknown place, and she realized how much she wanted him. She wanted him to hold her and take her and penetrate her body and mind.

And he was. He was taking her, and bringing her ever closer to that far-reaching place she could sense was there but didn't know existed. Her back scraped against the wood of the floor of the tent as he moved, her arms about him. She could barely breathe and she wrapped her legs around his, every muscle of her tightening preparing to release in an instant. He must have known she was close for he spoke directly into her ear, still grasping her hair.

"Now."

It wasn't a command, it wasn't permission, it was something in between. She didn't know what he meant exactly, not that any blood was left in her brain. But as his mouth found her neck and bit down gently, she felt her body give way and cried out, pulling him with her, grasping him to her.

* * *

><p>Hermione blinked and realized she was still on the floor of the tent, his weight on top of her. Her heart was still racing and her arms and legs had trapped him in place. His head was in the crook of her neck, his breath coming in ragged pants.<p>

Before she could move her legs, he reached his arm out, putting weight on the floor at a right angle and lifting himself up.

He looked her square in the face, and she felt her cheeks heating up as she unhooked her legs from his. He didn't even say anything, just looked at her in that was which made her tremendously uncomfortable.

She sat up all at once, making him startle back. Her hand went to her head immediately as the world spun for a moment.

"It'll pass," he said, slipping out of her and moving to sit on the floor.

"It'll pass," he said again, quieter this time, not looking at her.

He stood and busied himself with fixing up his trousers, running a hand through his hair (though it did nothing), and going over to grab his ever-ready bottle of firewhiskey.

She reached for the running bottoms he'd lent her which were near her feet and pulled them on, not speaking, thankful he didn't watch her. The shirt had stayed on although it was only around her neck, so she pulled her arms through the too-big holes.

Reaching her hands behind her, she put weight on them and stood, walking away from him to sit at the edge of the bed.

She was turned away from him, but as he took a swig he saw her reaching her hands out to comb through the tangles in her hair. It was such a feminine preoccupation and he watched her silently for a moment.

Hermione was working on a small knot at the side of her hair when she heard him speak.

"I'm sorry."

Her hands stilled and he saw it; saw the effect his words had on her.

Hermione swallowed, and after choosing her words carefully, spoke, thankful she faced away from him.

"No need for an apology. I think you could tell that."

If he hadn't been so jaded and cynical he would have almost blushed himself. He knew she had wanted it, especially in those last moments right before he entered her. But he thought he'd give her the chance to make him a villain.

Hermione was blushing furiously under her mane of curls and thanked Godric he couldn't see. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but no, he had not taken advantage or her, or forced her, or raped her. She had gone with him, willingly. The thought of how unlike her it was terrified her.

It was the first of many things that would terrify her...


End file.
